


A Polite Fiction

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, Future Fic, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-09
Updated: 2008-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future AU; "And then somehow, between arguing and taunting, shoving at shoulders and scowling, it comes to this. Mohinder naked, spread-eagled on Sylar's bed, one hand fisting the sheets and the other stroking Sylar's hair as he bobs his head up and down his rigid cock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Polite Fiction

Mohinder is never sure how it happens, but it always does. They will spend the day bickering, Sylar seeming to go out of his way to work at Mohinder's every nerve as they sit trapped in a car, a plane or a boat. Their mission will go off without a hitch. Sylar's powers make Mohinder's presence mostly redundant except as a failsafe should Sylar develop sudden recidivistic tendencies. But their success will do nothing to alleviate their flaring tempers. And then somehow, between arguing and taunting, shoving at shoulders and scowling, it comes to this. Mohinder naked, spread-eagled on Sylar's bed, one hand fisting the sheets and the other stroking Sylar's hair as he bobs his head up and down Mohinder's rigid cock.

 

'For fucks sake, Sylar just--' And he does. He twists his fingers, buried deep inside Mohinder's ass and presses solidly against his prostate. Mohinder is far down Sylar's throat as he hums. His balls are being petted and played with. The teasing that Mohinder has been enduring for far too long while Sylar kept him hanging on the brink of orgasm is suddenly and completely gone. Mohinder comes, shouting hoarsely and incoherently but Sylar barely reacts. He simply swallows repeatedly around him until Mohinder slips, spent and limp, from his lips.

 

Every muscle in Mohinder's body relaxes and he cannot control the moans that fall from his lips while his body still trembles. Briefly he wonders when the tension that builds all day began to feel so much like foreplay. He doesn't let his mind linger there for long, though, because if he stops to really think about it, he will be forced to come to his senses.

 

Mohinder opens his eyes to find Sylar grinning down at him, always smug and self satisfied at the wreck he can so effortlessly reduce Mohinder to. Mohinder shoves at his chest and rolls them over so they face each other on the pillows. He glances down at Sylar's cock, hard and thick between his legs, and licks his lips, eager to have him in his mouth. He starts to shift downwards, to claim what he wants, but Sylar grips him by the back of the neck and pulls him up once more.

 

'What?' he asks. He struggles in Sylar's hold, annoyed that even without the use of his abilities Sylar is still stronger.

 

'Let me fuck you.'

 

'No.' Mohinder rolls his eyes. He doesn't want to have this fight tonight. He can still feel the stretch of Sylar's fingers inside him and he thinks of how much greater and how much better it would be with Sylar's dick or his mind. But Mohinder shakes his head _no_, denying them both. 'I'll fuck you, if you like,' he offers, hoping Sylar will back down from his demand but knowing full well that he won't.

 

Sylar trails his fingers down Mohinder's soft and oversensitive dick. He flinches as Sylar tickles the tip and he knows Sylar's argument before he speaks it. 'I think you're done for the moment.'

 

'Blowjob?'

 

'No, Mohinder.' He sounds annoyed now, but Mohinder ignores it. He doesn't want to think why Sylar, when given the choice, prefers not to have Mohinder suck him off. He tries not to recall the desperate way he pulls Mohinder's face from his lap, guiding Mohinder's hand where his lips had been and covering Mohinder's lips with his own. _I want to kiss you_, he always moans and Mohinder tries to forget how perverse that sounds on the lips of a man who had tried to kill him. On the lips of a man Mohinder had tried to kill.

 

'I want to fuck you.'

 

Mohinder pretends he hasn't heard and turns to the bedside table to find the bottle of lube. Behind him, he can hear Sylar gasp in anticipation, and then groan in disappointment when Mohinder leaves the condoms untouched.

 

'A handjob? Seriously? Mohinder, I sucked you off for half an hour! You can do better than a handjob.'

 

Mohinder ignores him and wraps his slick hand around Sylar's erection. Sylar is still complaining, but he isn't shy about rolling his hips and arching up in to Mohinder's fist.

 

'I offered you a blowjob and you didn't want it,' Mohinder says flatly, slowing down his strokes on Sylar's cock. 'Besides it's not my fault you took so long to make me come.'

 

Sylar growls at that so Mohinder kisses him. He isn't in the mood to argue anymore and he'd rather end this having had the last word. He can taste himself as they kiss. He is everywhere on Sylar's tongue and Sylar's breath. Mohinder slips his hand down to fondle Sylar's balls, and he groans into Sylar's mouth when he feels Sylar's hand move between them to take up the position Mohinder's has abandoned.

 

He breaks out of the kiss to watch Sylar touch himself, still absently rubbing Sylar's sac with wet fingers and palm. Sylar's eyes open and he pulls his own hand away. When he speaks his voice is filled with a need and desperation that only comes out in these scattered few nights they spend together.

 

'Please.'

 

Mohinder cannot stand to hear him beg. He doesn't want to acknowledge that Sylar is weak and vulnerable, human with needs like any other. He wants this to be fast and angry, hard to the point that it verges on violent. Mohinder needs this to be so overwhelming and all consuming that when he has to face himself in the mirror, alone in the morning as he always finds himself, he can write this off as another shameful aberration. This has to be nothing more nor less than a physical weakness that he cannot control.

 

'No,' he says gruffly. He wishes he could get hard again so soon. Mohinder is getting angry now, and then angrier because he knows that Sylar can see it but still he pushes. He wants to fuck Sylar into silence, push at the back of his neck until his face is smothered in the pillows and the only part of him Mohinder knows is the clenching of his asshole around his dick and the pulse of his cock in his hand. But he can't, not yet, not after the way Sylar has so expertly pleasured him. It makes him even angrier still to think that in some way this has been Sylar's plan.

 

Mohinder bites at Sylar's mouth to cut off his pleas. With a sudden flash of inspiration he coats his palm with lube again and rubs the slippery fluid over his inner thighs, ignoring the chill and Sylar's bemused look. He flips onto his hands and knees. Mohinder looks at Sylar over his shoulder and jerks his head to tell him to hurry up. Sylar stares at him, his head cocked to the side and intuitive aptitude or not, Sylar is being slow on the uptake tonight. Mohinder can see the moment he finally understands what it is Mohinder wants him to do.

 

There is an awkward fumble of limbs as they get in position. Sylar tangles his hand in Mohinder's hair and Mohinder grunts in annoyance to feel the slide of lube at the back of his neck. Sylar tugs at his handful, twisting Mohinder's neck to the side to get at his mouth but in this position they can barely kiss. All they manage is an uncomfortable, sideways mash of their lips, and Mohinder can feel Sylar hesitate behind him.

 

Mohinder contemplates whether he is punishing Sylar for being so needy, forcing him to choose between the gratification that he desires and the intimacy that he seems to need. But he pushes aside the thought. Sylar is the one who plays head games, not him. He reaches under himself and grasps Sylar's cock, guiding it between his slick thighs and pressing them together around him.

 

Sylar groans in his ear, biting at his neck when Mohinder flexes the muscles of his thighs. He grips Sylar's hip and encourages him to move. It takes them a few thrusts to get the rhythm right. Sylar, of course, knows what he's doing straight away but it has been years since Mohinder has needed to do this. It feels strange to be in this position, up on his knees and squeezing his legs together instead of spreading them wide. Sylar shifts higher so that with every stroke he glides along the cleft of Mohinder's ass, brushing the back and underside of his balls. It is enough to prompt that familiar tug at the apex of Mohinder's thighs and he feels his cock start to fill once more.

 

Mohinder could turn around then, pump himself fully hard and take Sylar like he had wanted to do just minutes before, but Sylar has fallen mostly silent and the anger Mohinder had felt has subsided with his growing arousal. Sylar is kissing his back, his neck and his shoulders. Sylar's hand slides wetly around Mohinder's thigh and he touches Mohinder everywhere – his legs, his stomach, his balls and his growing erection. Mohinder hangs his head down, letting out groans of his own as he watches the deep red head of Sylar's cock poke out between his own rich, dark thighs.

 

'God, Mohinder, where did you learn to do this?' Sylar moans between gritted teeth as Mohinder clenches and relaxes his legs. It's a rhetorical question, a jibe to disguise how much Sylar is enjoying this and a petty swipe to imply that Mohinder is somehow just as deviant as Sylar himself. He should ignore it, thrust back and take his victory in the way Sylar will crumble as he comes, but he cannot let the challenge go unanswered.

 

'Boarding school,' he grinds out. He follows the words with a deliberately cocky laugh and gets his comeuppance when Sylar grabs his dick, jacking him off with precise and practiced strokes. The air rushes from his lungs and he doesn't have the voice to say any more. So Mohinder simply remembers: he had been scared but excited and horny as fuck, sneaking into the dormitory with an older boy when he should have been at cricket practice. Was he handsome? What was his name? Mohinder finds to his shame that he cannot remember but maybe it's better that way. The memory is one of climax, fear and self recrimination. He doesn't want to sully that with a name that means nothing and a half remembered face so much less attractive in hindsight. It had been just once, messy and dangerous, and afterwards Mohinder had agonised about what it meant. He never spoke to the boy again.

 

He reels to find he has come full circle. For here he is, scared but excited and horny as fuck, doing things he shouldn't do with a man he shouldn't want and in the morning he knows those same feelings of guilt and shame will haunt him once more. But unlike that boy and unlike at school, Mohinder knows that Sylar will never let him walk away.

 

'Slut,' Sylar breathes against the crook of his neck. His thighs are slapping against Mohinder's with every jerk of his hips and the wetness that covers them now is not just lube but sweat and pre-come too. There's nothing malicious in what Sylar says and it brings Mohinder out of his reverie. He's not sure if Sylar noticed his mind wandering – did he falter when he pushed back against him or did his back grow tight when confronted with the uncomfortable truth of what this was? Whatever the reason, Mohinder appreciates the teasing tone and a return to more palatable thoughts.

 

'Jealous,' he retorts.

 

'Of you?' Sylar snorts his disbelief. The effect is ruined as the sound turns into a grunt of pleasure. Mohinder holds him tightly between his thighs and strokes the trapped head of his cock.

 

'Of me,' he confirms, not thinking at all as he speaks. Sylar laps at his ear and Mohinder can feel a second orgasm tugging at his balls, waiting and unstoppable at the base of his dick.

 

Suddenly Sylar grabs his hips, gives several rapid thrusts in quick succession and comes between Mohinder's legs. His semen hits Mohinder's balls and coats his thighs as Sylar continues to push himself against Mohinder's body. He holds Sylar through the aftershocks, turning his head to kiss his nose and his cheek and wherever else he can reach. Mohinder flips onto his back beneath him, telling himself he is doing this as a favour to Sylar, as a reward for the way he had so skillfully pleasured him earlier. In reality he finds he wants to kiss Sylar through the tremors that wrack his body as much as Sylar wants to be kissed.

 

He doesn't have time to contemplate what that means, thank goodness, because his own orgasm is getting closer. Sylar is touching him again, one hand tight around his cock, the other plunging two wet fingers back inside his ass. He strokes Mohinder's prostate the instant he crooks his fingers and as Mohinder comes he thinks that maybe, one day, he'll let Sylar take him like he wants to.

 

But as Sylar strokes him down and spoons behind him, kissing his neck and holding him close in a fierce embrace, his guilt and regret is already making itself known. Mohinder knows then that _one day_ won't be one day soon. When Sylar falls asleep, Mohinder twists from his arms and leaves the room, filthy and remorseful. In the morning they will go on as before and Mohinder will lie to himself that this time was the last time he will betray his father's memory.


End file.
